Experiences

Living in Valletta: a permanent surprise

A man reading in his car outside his garage on a Saturday afternoon

When I moved to Valletta five years ago, one of my greatest surprises was seeing that particular face expression each time I told somebody where I was living. “Valletta?” – they cried, turning their face into a display of disbelief and frustration – “but why?!” It was then my turn to be surprised and reply “Why not?”, only to learn that the problem was “those-ħamalli-hostile-to-every-stranger-and-whom-everyone-in-their-right-mind-avoids“, or, in brief, the stereotyped residents of Valletta. I usually replied by admitting that I had not noticed anything outrageous about my Valletta neighbours, compared to my previous neighbours in Msida and Gzira, and used to receive a skeptic look, followed by a short yet affirming “not yet”.

Although so much has changed in five years, ironically, the expression of surprise accompanying the question “Do you live in Valletta?” remains, but of a different kind. The alarmed look has now been replaced by a brow-raising suspicion of my riches. The most frequent question now is “How can you afford it?” This curiosity is easily understood: at this point in time, the monthly rent for a basic two-bedroom property is no less than €700, whilst more fashionably furnished properties cost between €1000 and €2300 (!) per month.

What’s happened? How has the capital so closely associated with “slums”, “criminals” and “ħamalli” become trendy and barely affordable for an average earner within just a couple of years? One way to answer this question is simply the effect of gentrification brought on by handsome property investment prospects as part the European Capital of Culture 2018. However, the side effect of the approaching V18 is only part of a bigger picture. In fact, rather than being smoothly revamped into a “capital of culture”, Valletta 2017 has become much more of a battleground between antagonistic cultures and the winner is the one which promises highest profits.

What is Culture?

Symbolic funeral and mocking of the rival football clubs held by the fans of Valletta FC, champions of 2015-2016

The rapid transformation of Valletta is a source of many disputes. Some argue that Valletta is far more charming in a crumbling state, whilst others say that a facelift is necessary due to the hosting of the European capital of culture. One way or another, the ultimate majority of discussions about the future image of Valletta focus exclusively on the visual aspects of its facades and omit the stories of human relationships hidden behind them.

To start with, there is no universal definition of culture. In fact, the two most frequently referenced definitions contradict one another. According to one of them, culture is “a moral and aesthetic ideal, which found expression in art and literature and music and philosophy”. This definition is attributed to Matthew Arnold and his work “Culture and Anarchy”. The other author, Edward Burnett Tylor, suggested that culture is “that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, arts, morals, law, customs, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society”.

The fate of Valletta depends on which kind of culture it is going to be a capital of. Is it the culture limited to prestigiousentertainment or is it the culture of everyday life experiences which bring the place and the people into a tangible bond? Is it the culture which only sees Malta’s capital as a gourmet backdrop for trendy performances or is it the culture which can be experienced only by becoming part of its daily fabric?

Valletta as two cities

I always thought that every place owns its unique spirit to the indissoluble relationship between its architecture and its people. However, soon after having become a part of Valletta myself, I began to realise that, in the eyes of the public, Valletta was two distinct things: one – a marvel of Baroque architecture and the other – a swamp. One – to be admired, the other – to be disdained and vilified. One – its facades and the other – its 3rd class residents.

I learned that Valletta was severely bombed during World War II and the majority of its A-list residents fled to safer places. Countless times the elegant ladies and gentlemen shrugged, spreading their hands to indicate disapproval and telling me “Valletta was a city built by gentlemen, for gentlemen … and look what it is now!”

The tragedy of this immensely charming city is that Valletta’s architecture and Valletta’s residents are not recognised as one coherent whole. Sadly, in the eyes of respectable citizens and heritage guards such Din L-Art Helwa, the residents and the architecture belong to different dimensions and worth of contrasting treatment. The residents, often stereotyped as primitive boors, leeches depleting the social welfare or criminals, are presumed undeserving of the places they inhabit, in which every stone tells a story of its past noble magnificence.

When an attempt at snobbery results in a total failure

The Maltese gentry, for whom culture and Baroque are interchangeable terms, goes at lengths to emphasize that the city built by their forefathers still belongs to them and it should be reserved for worshiping high culture. They denounce anything unfitting of Valletta’s noble image. The Monti, pastizzi shops, clothes lines – everything inseparable from the daily lives of many of Valletta’s residents – is classified as desperately brutish, plebeian and culture-lacking. The social housing units of Mandragg and lower Valletta fall into the same “shameful eyesore” category.

Hipster Valletta: regeneration with a taste for venerating poverty?

The neighbourhood of Tico-Tico in Strait Street

Unfortunately, the nation-wide pride of its architecture did not protect “the city built by gentlemen” from decades of neglect. In his renowned photographic essay “Vanishing Valletta”, David Pisani documented the crumbling abandoned buildings which neither “gentlemen” nor the government rushed to restore. The most beautiful facades were not deemed worthy of care until a few years ago, when shabby suddenly became the new chic. New bars on Strait Street and lower Valletta (former red light districts) were injected with a new vibe. However, these trendy outlets rely mainly on the fashionable hipster crowd who visit Valletta for a sip of “authentic experience”.

Valletta in a nutshell by Nadine Noko (published in the issue 5 of Patron Magazine)

The hipster crave for “authenticity” deserves a special mention. Unlike the conservative baroque-worshipping gentry, the predominantly young creative middle class is not repelled by shabby walls and laundry lines. On the contrary, the youth unfamiliar with the realities of true undignified poverty sees dilapidated spaces as aesthetically pleasing and “cool”. Thus, to the hipster culture, Valletta’s crumbling facades are a splendid backdrop for a trendy party.

The hipster culture does not seek a deeper relationship with the city because its interests do not go beyond the aesthetics of the facades. This way of experiencing the city also deprives its residents of their humanity as it folklorises them into exotic creatures. The condescending acceptance of embarrassingly styleless specimen best manifested itself in a LovinMalta’s article: with a touch of sentimental sadness, it waved good-bye to the Triton Fountain kiosks, classifying them as amusing, yet unfitting to the upscale image a European Capital of Culture is expected to flaunt.

The contrast between the outspoken poverty of a few Valletta’s neighbourhoods and the trendy entertainment culture thriving on romanticising this poverty is stark. Hipster’s willingness to hang around dilapidated spaces sets a precedent for opening of more bars designed to suite a particular taste. While Tico-Tico, Café Society and the Gut physically belong to Valletta, they remain an isolated bubble which overlooks the life of the local community.

However, my skepticism towards the hipster attitude to Valletta does not extend to criticising all of the younger vibes. On the contrary, Valletta’s population is ageing, which means that many more houses will become vacant in the near future. Will these houses be reborn as homes or will they turn into outlets whose only contribution to Valletta’s life is commerce?

Boutique hotels for the tasteful caste

SU29 luxury boutique hotel (suites available at €135 to €325 per night) and its neighbour, a regular Valletta house in St. Ursula Street

The handsome profitable prospects brought by the European Capital of Culture have turned Valletta into a goldmine and a battleground between various interests at once. After the decades of neglect and distant worship, the vacant houses and residential properties discovered a new meaning of existence – that of a boutique hotel.

It is easy to lose count of the permit applications for boutique accommodation popping up practically around every corner.

The only house which (so far) miraculously avoided being converted into a boutique hotel

With no exaggeration, there soon will be more boutique hotels than residents in Valletta: exclusive accommodations such as Ursulino, Casa Ellul, SU29 and Palazzo Consiglia are now competing for distinguished clientele with La Falconeria, De Vilhena, Valletta Boutique Living, Valletta Vintage and a dozen more boutique hotels-to-be at Republic, St. Paul’s, St. Christopher, St. Ursula, St. Barbara, Old Theatre, Old Bakery Streets and Valletta’s old fish market Pixkerija. Barbara Bastions can now be safely renamed into Boutique bastions since only a couple of houses in that location are not being converted into exclusive accommodation of some kind.

The construction works were criticised by the local council as “the worst siege ever” and slammed by the residents, the heritage organizations and the intelligentsia alike – albeit for contrasting reasons. Whereas the residents have to endure the non-stop sounds of drilling, the cranes above their roofs and the clouds of dust, the reasons for critique from the heritage activists and the creative class are not as straight-forward. It is not the appropriation of residential houses into boutique hotels that the “baroque or nothing” heritage activists protest, but the obscure appropriators whose cultural unawareness and opportunism are enough to infuriate the gentry. The creative crowd predictably protests the visual aspects of the developments: the cranes distorting the skyline, the disappearance of venerated shabbiness and the heavy presence of scruffy workers, so unpleasant to the aesthetically sensitive taste.

On the other hand, the ever-growing number of boutique accommodations provides a perfect opportunity for implementing interior designer skills and entrepreneurial ambitions – the traits highly respected by the tasteful critics. Thus, once the cranes, the trucks and the workers are gone leaving behind a new deliciously designed hotel, the critique is immediately replaced by ovations and excitement at the prospects of welcoming the esteemed guests. Gentrification of Valletta is not only barely spoken about but is openly celebrated. Same is true about the Three Cities – Senglea, Cospicua and Birgu.

Valletta Vintage exclusive accommodation offers rooms with a view

It certainly is positive that the buildings of such beauty and history are being restored, yet it is equally sad that the restoration of these buildings is deemed worthy only if it promises solid investment rewards. Besides, the “boutiquefication” of Valletta reduces the residents and the everyday life to a decorative view from a holiday room.

The employment and career opportunities offered to a broad category of professionals by Valletta 2018 are certainly among its positive aspects, yet the statements like those said by Sean Buhagiar are indeed irritating, because they refuse to acknowledge any other definition of culture except from artistic performances which he and his colleagues play an imperative role in. Indeed, the demand for sophisticated entertainment is at the core of the middle- and upper-class cultural habits yet culture, in its broad sense, is not equivalent to the consumption of concerts, performances and exhibitions.

Sincerely, I have lost count of various Valletta-related arguments to disagree with.

I disagree with sentimental conservationists who morn the Valletta of crumbling facades and regard it as far more dignified than Valletta restored. While shabbiness might appear particularly spiritual to spectators, to many residents it simply signifies poverty and the inability to carry out restoration works on their own.

I disagree that the only way to restore Valletta is to convert it into a host of exclusive guest houses for the privileged caste, trendy bars and luxurious shopping outlets. The Valletta of boutique hotels would be hollow and soulless. The void of community spirit, which makes every city so unlike any other, would be replaced by temporary visitors who don’t have a profound relationship with the city. It would turn locals and their households into somebody’s room with a view. Yet, how can Valletta resurrect as a city with its own vibrant community life, if properties here are out of reach for the majority of the Maltese population?

Finally, I disagree with reducing Valletta to a backdrop for upmarket entertainment and tasteful consumption wrapped into “the European Capital of Culture 2018” package. As any other place, Valletta does not lack culture of its own. On the contrary, it has plenty of it – the little mundane rituals of “hello” and “how are you”, the feasts, the relationships between the people whom Valletta comforts and makes feel at home. Unlike the pre-packaged commodified experiences offered by hipster culture and Valleta 2018, the culture of daily participation cannot be exhibited at a museum or performed on stage – it cannot be experienced in any way other than becoming a part of its fabric. Too bad this kind of culture does not offer profitable returns and hence is not held in high regard.

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P.S. The culture of everyday life

Once I was told how you would never stop looking up when strolling around New-York. I cannot tell – I have never been to New-York – but I trust it must be exciting. What is stopping you from never ceasing from looking up in Valletta, however? New-York is far, Valletta is close and balcony-spotting there is fun full of discoveries.

Soon after the selection of Valletta’s most beautiful balconies had been complete, a new portion of new unique finds accumulated. It is difficult to spot two identical traditional balconies in Valletta unless they belong to the same palazzo. The variety of balcony types in Valletta is the beautiful side of Malta’s architectural anarchy. St. Ursula and Archbishop street are particularly rich in unique architectural features.

Click on the map below for a virtual balcony tour or access the full map.

Have you ever seen a wooden balcony-resembling structure smaller than this dwarf in Archbishop street? This curious structure is a mix between a muxrabija window and a balcony. One can only wonder whether it serves any purpose apart from decorative and what it feels like for an adult to stay in there.

Red Dwarf, the smallest wooden balcony-resembling structure in Valletta (corner of Archbishop and St. Ursula streets)

2. Little Green Juliet

Balconettes, barely protruding from the wall structures, also referred to as Juliet balconies, are not uncommon in Valletta. This one in St. Dominic Street is the smallest in size.

Little Green Juliet (St. Dominic Street)

3-5. Curved elegance

Although all unique, these three balconies have one thing in common – curved shape. The green balconette’s rounded base is almost indistinguishable from the decorative edge on the facade. With its curved shape, tiny size and the elaborate metal railing, the balcony is fit for a doll’s house.

The white elegantly curved balcony in lower West Street is similar to its green sibling except it protrudes a little more prominently from the wall. Squeezed between much larger balconies, it appears out of place. It is one of the many symbols of the architectural anarchy in Malta.

The all-wooden blue balcony on Archbishop street is a surprising discovery if you look up every so often while strolling around the baroque city.

This balcony forms part of the newly restored house in lower West Street. Its imaginative roof design is unique to Valletta – so much it resembles Medieval coffer ceiling with its essential decorative elements.

Even though aluminium window frames ruin its authenticity, this balcony in lower Republic street has its particular humble charm. Another asset of the architectural anarchy in Malta.

Beige wooden box-like balcony, lower Republic Street

8. Yellow nest-box

Although this yellow balcony on the corner of Old Mint and Archbishop streets is a little larger than a bird’s nest-box, it is equipped with clothes lines.

Yellow Nest box (corner of Archbishop and Old Mint streets)

9-10. Little neighbours of Casa Rocca Piccola

Have you ever noticed these two triple-window miniatures in the close proximity to Casa Rocca Piccola? Indeed, strolling around the baroque city with your head up is worth it.

A tiny satellite to the Casa Rocca Piccola

Another little neighbor of Casa Rocca Piccola

Double-window miniatures

Double-window balconies are scattered around Valletta. A couple of them, twin brown balconies in St. Ursula Street, were newly restored.

This unique balconies in North Street are screaming for restoration

Double-window balcony in Archbishop street

A humble double-window balcony in Old Bakery Street, by St. Augustine church

Humble double-window balcony, lower West street

Newly restored twins in St. Ursula Street

Abandoned double-window balcony (St. Paul Street)

Triple-window miniatures

Triple window mini balconies are most concentrated in lower Valletta, especially lower Republic street. From all the balconies of various shapes and colours one is especially particular. Spot the little green balcony in Sappers Street, part of the abandoned house, and you will notice the flushing tank right above it. Overlooking the Hastings Gardens, this must be a toilet facility with best view on the island.

Some of the balconies in lower Republic Street are in desperate need of restoration

This balcony in lower Republic street would have looked much better with window frames of wooden instead of aluminium

Well-kept balcony with a view in San Bastian road

Another red miniature balcony in bottom Republic Street

Triple-window twins, lower Republic Street

Another pair of twins, North Street

Another balcony in street Street is in need of restoration

Yay! – newly restored balcony

Toilet with a view: this little balcony, overlooking Hastings Gardens, includes a toilet facility

Abandoned triple-window mini balcony in Old Mint Street

Just a few inches deep: Valletta’s balconettes

Wooden balconettes are intriguing. Although their shape is similar to the other traditional balcony types, they barely protrude from the facades. A wooden balconette is a teasers of a balcony – it only mimicries proper balcony appearance while lacking its functionality. You can spot a few balconettes in lower Valletta, around Old Hospital and North streets.

This balcony in St. Ursula Street is one of the shallowest balconettes in Valletta

Barely sticking out of the wall

Balconette in St. Christopher’s lane

Lower Merchant’s Street

A group of balconettes in Old Hospital Street

A group of balconettes in Old Hospital Street

Elegant balconette on the corner of North and Merchant streets

This unique balconies in North Street are screaming for restoration

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Point of no return by Heiner Blum (credits: http://sammlung-zimmermann.com/collection/heiner-blum-point-of-no-return/)

What if you could meet yourself from a far away land as if you were strangers? Would you recognize yourself then? Hardly do we see ourselves LEGO-like, constructed from different customs, languages, mentalities and geo-references that can be altered into a new combination. No difference is felt between a self of yesterday and that of today. What if your consciousness is not as indivisible as you think? What if you met yourself a decade younger, would you be friends?

A few days ago a ghost from the past sprang out from an email by someone once very dear, whose influence on me back in my Russian days was unprecedented. It felt as if I could hear myself of a decade younger talking to the present day me and the voice from the past did not sound any familiar. On the contrary, those few sentences made me realize how much these past few years have changed me, how far ‘my Russian past self’ and ‘the Maltese me’ have grown apart and how much this transformation is irreversible.

The message, the sound call for patriotic love for the motherland and the firm condemnation of immigration brushed upon my senses like sandpaper on bare skin. It was disturbing and alienating. It made me wonder what response the exact same words would have caused in me if I never left Russia – would it have been natural to side with that point of view? I would have been different then, no doubt. Existence determines consciousness. ‘The Russian me’ today would have regarded ‘my Maltese self’ as a traitor, a poor-spirited westerner who exchanged the excitement of belonging to one of the world’s greatest powers for the comforts of a European residency. ‘The Russian I’ would disdain, just as much as my former alter-ego did, the lightness of the Mediterranean lifestyle as unintelligent. The very thought of how different my consciousness could have been in different environment from what it is today scares me. And what scares even more is that I could have approved of something I so dislike now.

You know it precisely when you hit the point of no return and the idea of returning to a place once called home brings fits. When a message from a former soul mate, so admired back then, is ideologically offensive, you know there is no way back. It is not the fear of being again misunderstood and constantly unaccepted but the fear of subjecting myself to a risky mental experiment – existence determines consciousness – and feeling comfortable with the ideas cultivated on the other side of the fence. If, to a great extent, my consciousness is a function of the social reality around me, I would like to be able to choose what reality to be a function of.

Even after decades spent in immigration, many of us still care of that, often invisible and unsensed, umbilical cord connecting to the place of birth. There our eyes saw the world for the first time, there belong all our childhood memories. Cutting yourself off from the homeland is painful. Your senses were hurt beyond healing and you had to perform an emotional surgery. What once had been an indivisible part of self became external and disconnected. The remains from that umbilical cord are now in the fragmented memories of rather sentimental than ideological significance – the sunlit memories of bursting buds and of the air filled with the rustle of sticky newborn leaves, of the spicy smell of spring grass, of the smoky scent of autumn and the cards with greetings. The memories are the roots transplanted into new soil.

Admitting to yourself there is no return unavoidably separates you in two: the one back then and the one now. These two might be best friends or they might not be, but in either case no longer are they one.

Despite its frequent mention, the word ‘migrant’ tells nothing about an individual except for that he no longer lives in the country of origin. Although it gives no insights into what makes one a migrant, the term itself is enough to draw a line between those who remain in a home country since birth and those who deliberately chose what country to call home. Linguistics and social sciences attempt at classifying ‘migrants’ into different categories based on the external conditions that lead to leaving the country of origin, yet these categories dehumanise the individual experiences hidden behind them.

What distinguishes RIMA project from other initiatives focused on the matters of migration, is that, rather than calling for acceptance of migrants, it delves into the very heart of the matter by searching for an integral and comprehensive definition of the term ‘migrant’ itself. Coordinated by Virginia Monteforte and Elise Billiard Pisani, RIMA project brings out personal experiences of migrants – individuals looking for their sense of home outside of their country of birth. The project dissolves boundaries between a ‘migrant’ and a ‘non-migrant’ by defining them both through a personal journey in search for home that is common to us all.

The real life stories collected through RIMA were transformed into a theatrical adaptation titled ‘Encounter with migrant narratives’, directed by Marcelle Teuma and held at Palazzo Pereira on 26th and 27th February. The performance involved four actors, two of whom were amateurs, and a minimalist set-up which helped to establish a feeling of intimacy and connection with the audience without sacrificing the means of expression.

A scene from Marta Lombardi’s narrative

Four actors, five different journeys in search for a place to feel, as stated by one of the narrators, “accepted, protected, welcomed”. Sharon Bezzina, an actor by profession, presented her interpretation of two stories – one by a Japanese woman, driven by photography and thirst for travelling and the other – by a young Maltese female who moved to Milan for her studies. Magdalena Van Kuilenburg interpreted a narrative of a USA migrant married to a Maltese man, who was attempting to find home in Malta after spending a few years in UK. Both, Marta Lombardi and Ali Konate, told their own stories which established a unique and profound feel of intimacy and trust between the cast and the audience. While the reasons that set the female characters on a journey originated in their own willingness, same did not apply to a Mali-born Ali who was forced to leave the country of birth even though he was deeply rooted to it.

The expressive exploration of the limits that prevent the sense of home from setting in was the most memorable element of the performance. The play began from portrayal of unspoken distrust and isolation between the Japanese avid traveler and the American migrant, expressed by placing a line of tape which remained dividing the two for a while. The interpretation of this line of tape could vary from physical limits such as country frontiers to more subtle reasons like lack of common memories or customs that consolidate individuals into a nation. After a while, the sharing of life experiences finally broke the ice between the two and created an opening in the previously solid line of tape. The exploration of limits did not stop at portraying the country frontiers, it delved into such obstacles of emotional comfort as physical boundaries of a tiny studio apartment (whose plan was outlined with tape right on the stage) which made the Maltese architecture student miss Malta in Milan. Marta Lombardi’s search for home was of a more intimate kind, the barriers keeping her from feeling at home emerged from difficulties to be understood, accepted and welcomed. “We find home in people just as much as in places” (*). For a moment the cast got united around a dining table celebrating Marta’s hospitality yet, even in that warm surrounding, she admitted the struggle to feel at home in Malta.

Maltese architecture student played by Sharon Bezzina who struggled to feel at home in a Milan’s tiny studio apartment

The most visually striking part of the performance was Ali’s narrative. The sense of uneasiness and alarm created by his story of forced resettlement and a journey on a flimsy boat was accentuated by his colleagues on stage, whose synchronized fluttering interactions with scarlet draperies gave an extra visual dimension to the powerful message. Thus, at some point the scarlet cloths turned into waves, a symbolic expression of the waves of blood, the waters of the Mediterranean that kept the lives of so many on their way of finding home.

Ali’s narrative. Photo by Virginia Monteforte

Ali’s narrative. Photo by Virginia Monteforte

Ali’s narrative. Photo by Raisa Tarasova

Ali’s narrative. Photo by Raisa Tarasova

Through the artistic means of expression, ‘Encounter with migrant narratives’ succeeded to depict the longing for a place where an intuitive inner state of home develops naturally. Also, the performance did quite a good job at underlining how natural it is for everyone to search for home, be it the place of birth or any other place on the planet, and how illusory the differences between ‘a migrant’ and a ‘non-migrant’ are within this concept. The only room for improvement could have been increasing the number of performances since the limited amount of seats at Palazzo Pereira did not allow the play to be viewed by a broader audience, which it certainly deserved.

Click here if you wish to participate in crowdfunding of publishing the migrant narratives collected though the project.

P.S. (*) “We find home in people just as much as in places” is quoted from an article by Marcelle Fenech.

Building relationships with other people is no easy matter. While some of us learn through experiences, others prefer to see them accidental, giving green light to potentially harmful communications that inevitably result in disappointments. How much of a relationship failure is rooted in our own behavior and perceptions and how much of it is affected by those of others?

Throughout my whole life I struggled to establish a lasting connection with creative and talented people I was particularly drawn to. In the majority of times I failed and, looking back at those failures, I can see how much they originated from my, at that time idealistic, perceptions of people. I am not the one to advice anybody on how to make lots of good friends – I haven’t reached that point of enlightenment and doubt I ever will. However, mistakes, observations and stories of the others have led to a few insights which in many ways helped me to build a circle of close friends I dreamt so much about. What took me so long to understand are, in fact, banalities from the Captain Obvious.

Consumption preferences do not equal to personal values

In my younger years I had a habit of idealizing cultured people. I sincerely believed a well-read person must necessarily be deep, honest, considerate, and compassionate. How can a person so seemingly drawn to high culture be other than wonderful? How can a vegan yoga instructor who only consumes organic food and hand-made recycled clothes can be other than an angel on earth? They can be. It took me years to realize that consumption preferences are attributes of a particular social layer rather than indicators of the true depths of inner self.

Awareness of something does not equal passion for it

Be it visual, performance or written, art is a language that is not spoken and understood by many. For long “books were the emblems of a secret brotherhood” to me. Until at some point it got clear that neither the number nor the titles of books, read or displayed, mean the reader treats them as dear friends. That number by itself, in regards to personal depths and values, is as valid as a number of sandwiches consumed for breakfast. The law of the transformation of quantity into quality does not necessarily apply here. While knowledge deserves respect of its own, it does not always translate into virtues. It takes time, attention and respect to individual human experiences to understand whether works of art have made an impact on one’s state of heart and mind. There are no shortcuts to figure that out.

Admiration is not enough to be friends with everyone you admire

Communication with gifted people is inspiring. However, no matter how outstanding and beautiful is the world they create in their works, gifted people do not always possess the qualities to be our close friends. In other words, admiring a work of art does not have to extend to admiring its creator. Personal disagreements,on other hand, should not prevent us from appreciating works of our opponents and vice versa, being friends with someone does not mean we ought to flatter and approve each other all the time.

Intelligence and talent do not justify disrespect

A few years back, I believed intelligence and talent justify any kind of ill behavior towards others. Truly intelligent people, I thought, could not be evil. Thus, against all odds, I kept justifying disrespect, envy, arrogance as eccentric and inevitable side-effects of intelligence. I could not be more wrong. Arrogance and lack of respect is a choice and for that reason highly intelligent people have even fewer excuses than anyone else.

Honesty and openness to individual human experiences are the core qualities of a genuine person

It is well-known that a lasting relationship needs a common ground to grow on. Our close friends do not oblige to be original, extra talented, enormously well-read, exceptionally culturally aware or entertaining. Having a strong interest in anything external to self unites people with different backgrounds and interests. With time I learnt that honesty, openness to unique human experiences and humility are among the rarest and most exceptional qualities one can possess. They might not manifest themselves in exquisite clothing style or shelves full of books. Although unmistakable, these qualities need attention and time to be recognized.

It is an utter banality to state once again that we all are imperfect, that we all deserve a true friend and that a unique connection takes time to grow roots. An even greater banality is to admit it is the way we treat one another that says most about who we are. It seems, truth disguise itself in banalities.

In Malta silence is scarce. It is unwelcome and is almost feared. As if united in some secret anti-silence conspiracy, blasts of fireworks, church bell chime, gas delivery horns, loud conversations and passers-by’s vocal chords or/and car horns acting as door bells perform together to tear silence to pieces. Mediterranean passion for life and bustle does not have high respect for the noise-free environment. Every day, passion for life is celebrated here with fanfares and splashes of colour, leaving silence no other place but afterlife.

Comino, the smallest of the inhabited islands, attracts hordes of tourists and locals alike. In summer the famous Blue Lagoon fills up with boats, parties and laughter – everything that stands for summer fun by the sea. For too many, the Blue Lagoon is where Comino starts and ends, perhaps, that is why, by the end of autumn, the tiny rock of impeccable charm turns into a retreat of silence.

Off-season Comino is a meditation, a temple of silence worship. Every day spent here is refreshing for the body and the mind. The hidden caves, the sunset views from the tower, the flocks of birds flapping over your head effortlessly transform you into a silent observer of the beauty that surrounds. Small details, unnoticed during the summer, now rush to speak to you. A flower petal, a bee hive or a cliff of a particular shape stand out and call for admiration. While treating yourself with prolonged indolent moments you feel how the rustle of tree leaves and the bee’s buzz hypnotise and convince not to disturb their flow. The appeal of Comino extends far beyond its pretty turquoise bay: it allows the sense of intimacy with nature to develop – the effect that is difficult to match.

The true love for the natural world begins from the tender, meditative state of unity with it. Silence is an indispensable chord which sets us in tune with nature. Silence is magic.

P.S. Could it be that Maltese present-day obsession for concrete development and lack of appreciation for silence are related?

Likes is the new currency (image from www.dunnhumby.com/insigh/a-pictures-worth-a-thousand-likes)

In 2016 we are meeting people long before we do so in person or ever meet them at all. How often did you catch yourself on thinking that you’ve seen that face somewhere or that you met this stranger before? Was it at some friend’s party, bus or elsewhere? Most probably, you previously ‘met’ them on Facebook.

Scrolling down the Facebook timeline, checking out comments and authors of those comments has reached the level of a true addiction only a few do not possess. But is it a waste of time after all? Is learning a few things about people out there so unimportant? And, finally, why is it a lot more fun to ‘discover’ people on Facebook than, say, on the bus? Here are some hints:

Quick assessment

Facebook gave the proverb “show me your friends and I will tell you who you are” a new meaning. Right after clicking on yet another name in the book of faces, first thing we look at is common friends. This gives an immediate indication of a social bubble and the associated with it major interests of the new unsuspecting acquaintance. Common friends is the best informal reference. Then we quickly proceed to the photos and the wall posts. A few moments later there arrives an impression of grasping a thing or two about that name on Facebook.

No doubt, your Facebook page is the present day’s CV and business card together. For others it serves as one of the key means of our personal and professional evaluation. Keeping that in mind, many excessively invest in their profile, decorating it with meaningful quotes, photos from various life events, achievements and so on, to give a vibrant impression to anyone curious out there. All quick means of personal evaluation are superficial and Facebook is not exception. However, one point is certainly true: Facebook allows a glimpse at our image we ourselves are willing to project. By sharing an article or a photo, we reveal our tastes, interests and matters we give importance to. From this perspective, sharing a photo of your latest nail artwork, or drunk and covered in feathers at a nightclub are not so subtle messages of how you’d like to be perceived by others out there.

Illustration from vk.com/gudim_public

Anonymity

For some of us, other people are a constant source of curiosity, inspiration and ideas. Discovering people for an extravert is as delightful as a solitary walk in the countryside for an introverted nature-lover. Compared to staring at people on the bus or at a supermarket, Facebook has an advantage of anonymity. We can spend as much time as we like checking out the posts and the pictures without the other person realizing it. Moreover, Facebook encourages such curiosity: any information available here is for others to see, so nobody can be accused in stalking.

Facebook inspires art: “Fragments”, an installation at St. James Cavalier (June 2015) exploring the interaction between life and social networks

Shifting perceptions on human interaction

Not only Facebook allows a glimpse at a stranger’s life, it does affect the way we perceive interactions with others. For better or for worse, it often deprives us surprises when casually meeting a ‘new’ person. Many times, an introduction chat with a new acquaintance can begin with “Ah, yes, we have common friends on Facebook, you’re into climbing, right?”. There is nothing negative or wrong about knowing certain facts about others before actually meeting them, but, on the other hand, that affects the sensation of first impression. The ‘first impression’ now begins from Facebook profile. Deliberate users manifesting their ideas and reporting their every step on Facebook often leave little about them to discover in person.

Facebook motivates actions. New trips are performed, outfits – tried and pictures – taken often for a sole purpose of being uploaded on social media.

Facebook has established a new attention and approval currency – ‘like’. Pictures, ideas and eterprises are now evaluated in number of ‘likes’ which have a value of their own. ‘Likes’ cannot be exchanged for anything else, yet they mean world for many. Not only constant attention seekers are addicted to likes, even humble individuals find a significant number of thumbs-up and shares flattering.

Facebook customises emotions. Profile templates are supplied in a blink of an eye. Be it a same sex marriage law finally approved or the latest Paris terrorist attack, Facebook makes expression of solidarity easier than changing clothes. How significant this solidarity is still remains a question mark, however, everyone has an equal opportunity to seem aware and involved.

4. Attention to individuals

The coolest thing about Facebook is that it puts individuals under the spotlight. It splits a faceless crowd into singular names and faces, giving them all an equal value and an equal opportunity to speak for themselves. Even groups on Facebook are formed by not anonymous individuals whose thoughts and feelings, to a certain degree, are accessible to public. Behind every name on Facebook is a life that cannot be neglected. Groups in this virtual space might have not so virtual power because their members can indentify like-minders and their strength in numbers. Sure, social networks are not short of fake profiles and trolls but, hey, even the Sun has spots.

Although social networks have become engraved into our daily routine, the most important point to remember is that WE ARE MORE THAN FACEBOOK PROFILES. No matter how cool and convenient it is to communicate and to be ‘liked’ in virtual spaces, it does not compensate the warmth of real-life interaction.

As every Maltese and many foreigners know, one can buy a Maltese passport for approximately €1M. The residence permit issuance racket got it to the local and international news a couple of months ago. According to Times of Malta and MaltaToday, 54% of all those willing to call themselves Maltese are from Russia and former Soviet Union countries. These are the stories and figures that make it to news, but what is left behind are the stories of individuals having to combat with the bureaucratic authorities for their right to reside here.

Source: Times of Malta

The very unbiased fact is: it is ultra difficult to get Maltese residence permit if one decides to follow all the requirements and use no shortcuts. Even after 6 years of working and feeling at home in Malta, my right to reside (my whole peaceful life) in the country depends on a number of permits and decisions. And this is the story I would like to be heard and shared.

The right to reside in Malta is granted to a foreigner from a non-EU part of the world upon a few reasons, such as marriage/partnership/family reunion, work, study and economic self-sufficiency. For many, marriage is the easiest way to acquire the residence permit. It is also the quickest way to obtain the Maltese citizenship (takes as long as 5 years being married to a Maltese citizen). However, not everyone sees marriage as a fix of their financial or/and citizenship issues (not all marry for those reasons, to be fair), some go the hard way by finding a job and applying for a work permit. The most unpleasant side of applying for the work permit is the constant change of requirements. Year after another, attempts are made to MAKE IT LOOK like there is a transparent selection process through which only qualified individuals are able to apply. These requirements complicate lives only of those who follow them. Just as locks protect against honest people only, these requirements DO NOT STOP a massive flow of far-from-qualified ones.

Applying for permits is, with no exaggeration, a stressful business. Applicants often start queuing up outside Identity Malta office as early as 5.30am. Many have been here for a number of days but their applications were rejected so they try again and again. Many slip to desperation and disrespect by trying to skip the queue and push others to the side (and all humiliation that follows). That’s not all. The attitude of many officers lacks not only basic politeness but basic understanding of benevolence.

Once all the documents are verified, fingerprints – scanned, fees – paid and the application finally accepted, an applicant is expected to wait for at least 6-8 weeks for the residence permit to be issued. It means that for these 6-8 weeks a non-EU applicant cannot travel outside of Malta. The residence permit on employment grounds is issued for a period of one year (3 years for spouses/partners of Maltese/EU citizens), which implies that 11 months later the nightmare has to be repeated. Some unforeseen situations might make your life even more difficult. One example is my stolen, still valid ID card/residence permit, took 3 months to be reprinted, and, correct, for all these months I could not travel. A couple of times I received a formal letter telling me to leave the country within 10 days, with no explanation. Apparently (and thankfully), both times it was somebody’s mistake.

The long-term residence is one way to improve the situation. Yet do not imagine it is an easy path. The requirements include having at least 80% score in Maltese language level 2 (how many Maltese can brag about such a score?), a course on Maltese history (fair enough) and a course on living and working in Malta, all completed at least a year before the application. Add to it a good chance that, by the time an applicant has everything in hand, the requirements will change again.

No, do not take me wrong, I am not complaining nor I am exaggerating. I consider myself lucky for arriving here on a plane, not on an overcrowded boat. It is just a routine struggle the description of which was, in fact, smoothed. I have been living here for 6 years, I understand Maltese and able to communicate in it, have a great interest in local customs and respect the local lifestyle (and I am not the only foreign resident like this). Isn’t it justified to say I deserve my right to live here? I have become Mediterranean and I love every day under this bright sun. Yet termination of the employment contract can be enough to end my residence here. Now admit, it is not right and it is human-unfriendly. Unfortunately, that’s the world we created and are living in, the world that is so immersed in global scale events that gives no importance to lives of single individuals.

With no unnecessary moralizing, one final suggestion: before complaining about many outsiders of whichever origin and skin colour poring into the country, imagine the procedures they have to pass. Respect their courage and dedication to go that hard way to improve their lives. Please share this story.

Every workday morning government officials and tourists mixed into one gigantic swarm, invade Valletta, rushing through Republic Street before disappearing in the quiet narrow side streets. Every evening the same human stream flows in the opposite direction, leaving the baroque city to its residents and self. Like the Moon, Valletta induces tidal human flooding. Like the Moon, it is familiar to every Maltese since childhood yet carries its “other”, hidden side, unknown to many.

How many times did you look around today, on your way to work and back home? How many times did you notice sometimes new? The hectic lifestyle, eyes and fingers stuck to screens leave little space for surprises and new discoveries. Sometimes, lifting your head is all it takes to be surprised. Valletta happens on many levels. The abandoned, crumbling balconies and the busy human swarm belong to different eras and dimensions; the contrast between them is particularly striking.

Here are just a few of Valletta’s unique balconies, discovered while roaming around on a warm October evening.

The Rococo BeautySt. Ursula Street is known for its haunted reputation. While a paranormal encounter is not guaranteed, a walk through this street would nourish your aesthetic sense. The facade of this house, particularly the balcony, remains my favorite spot in Valletta. I can never get enough of its curved shape and the beautifully carved windows.

2. The Ensemble of Perspective

Right opposite St. Dominic’s Church, in the corner of Merchants and St. Dominic’s streets, is located this humble, both in shape and in colour, ensemble of balconies. What is unique about it, however, is the vertical perspective: the whole ensemble narrows toward the top, giving the visual impression of a much greater height.

3. The Rebel Corner

Now keep walking on St. Dominic’s Street towards St. Paul’s Street. A very particular corner balcony crowns the corner of these two streets. The most peculiar side of this architectural specimen is not it’s shape however. It belongs to the world of its own, as if it was designed for a different building but, for some strange reason, became part of this one.

4. The Shabby Elegance

Unfortunately, there are many more of these exquisitely carved yet abandoned balconies as this one on the corner of Merchants and St. Lucia streets. Located at one of the busiest spots of Valletta, with the close proximity to the Valletta 2018, it yet remains in this state.

5. The Baroque Twins

Merchants Street is home to Valletta’s most beautiful balconies. The variety of styles and colours in this area is truly amazing. This facade, right in between the Russian Centre for Science and Culture and HSBC, blends Rococo decorative features with understatement of elegance.

6. The Nobleman

I bet everyone can tell where this one is. Correct, this baroque splendor is located right above Camilleriparismode store. Breathtaking architecture!

7. The Humble Curves

This one is easy to miss out. Too, a resident of Merchants street, unlike its close neighbors, does not manifest itself with bright colours. Look closer: it’s curved windows did not get the glass to fit the frames. 8. The Dusty Chic

Now turn to Zachary Street, walk towards St. John’s Co-Cathedral and, approaching the cafeterias, look up and you’ll see it. Finding this one feels beautiful: the narrow street with little light has more to offer.

9. The Grand Master

Grand in all aspects, this corner balcony needs no advertisement. At least once in their lifetime, anybody who ever walked past the Palace paused their pace to admire it.

10. The Lady in Red

Walking through St. George’s Square, turn right, pass through Archbishop’s Street and then immediately turn left into St. Frederick. One of the narrowest streets of Valletta hides a jewel. Just look at this newly renovated facad and the oval balcony. Simply beautiful!

P.S. Sometimes, a simple solution to traffic problems lays in a relaxed lifestyle. After finishing work, take a stroll around Valletta. It is much more pleasant than being stuck in traffic.

Malta is not as tiny as it looks on a map. With all its diversities, it does feel like a much bigger country, metaphorically speaking, it is a large country squeezed into the size of a pea. Here distance of one kilometer separates often incompatible realms with completely different realities. Close neighbors, Attard and Qormi easily could be two different states. Different worlds exist across from Valletta harbours. One of them, Sliema, is particularly tempting to explore.

A few decades back, Sliema was a hub of Maltese families with traditions. Nowadays, with property costs sky high, fewer and fewer Maltese can afford to live here. Those able to afford it much prefer a villa in quieter areas to non-stop noise from construction sights and the nightmare of searching for parking. Yet, Sliema still is a magnetic world, full of life, energy and a particular eclectic charm.

Sliema is Malta’s own California, a locality where the country’s foreign heart beats at a high rate. Visiting Sliema feels like going abroad – so different it is from anywhere else on the island. The Sliema experience starts from catching a bus from Valletta terminus: unlike many other bays, here you are surrounded with a young, colorful crowd, looking forward to burst out its energy at a party night. Tourists, students, frequent visitors and permanent residents fill the bus space with sounds of all languages and dialects. Sensual Spanish sibilant “s” mixes with croaky German and roaring Slavic sounds, creating a crazy yet exciting mix of different cultures heading towards the same destination: Sliema.

Once off from the noisy bus, you are standing on the Sliema seafront. Mellow tunes are seeping from Surfside restaurant, the sea meets the sky at the horizon, waves softly embrace the rocky beach – that’s on a sunny day. Stormy Sliema seafront would greet you with waves crushing on the shore and the unique sound that only surf can produce. One thing stays the same: regardless of what the weather is like, the promenade is taken by joggers – a rare scene in Malta outside of tourist localities. Expat Sliema/St. Julians body cult is one of its defining features; nowhere on the island have you seen such concentration of fit and attractive beings per square kilometer. Watching the world jogging by while trying to guess joggers’ country of origin is an easy entertainment for a lazy afternoon to spare.

Sliema promenade (source: web)

Gravity of all life pleasures attracts people from different walks of life (and that is what makes the locality so special). Yoga instructors and spiritual gurus coexist here with gold diggers and adventurers of all sorts, IT nerds – with environmentalists, left-wingers – with admirers of luxury and comfort. However, there is something that unites them all – uncertainty where life will get them tomorrow. They might stay here for years or might leave in a few days with the change of their fortune’s wind. The sense of uncertainty and joyful presence at the moment creates a mysterious, morphing façade which is not easy to break through.

Sliema stranger (source: Getty images)

While being pretty much one big family, the Sliema colorful expat community is at the same time quite isolated from the rest of the country. As much as they belong to the world, as little they pay attention to Malta’s local news and nuances of its routine struggle. Many came here seeking life full of entertainment, with long lists of desired achievements which integration into the Maltese society makes no part of. Ruled by its own conventions, this multicultural hub is the quickest escape to a foreign land which is always close if you need it.